


From Abbot to Zabini: A Page In The Life Of

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-13
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 18,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: 43: Teddy Lupin causes quite a scene in the Great Hall thanks to his clumsiness. Professor McGonagall is NOT amused.Because every character has a story.Hourglass Awards 2nd Place for best Drabble/Drabble Collection.





	1. Abbot, Hannah

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Hi everyone! This new fic is really ambitious. There will be a chapter for every character listed in the Unknowable Room's Fic Search Character List. They will be from different periods, mostly unconnected, just little snippets into the lives of each of the characters. Please do review, I will probably need a lot of feedback to make the story better =)**

**1\. Abbot, Hannah**

"Abbot, Hannah!"

A little roundfaced, blonde girl makes her way nervously up to the Sorting Hat. It is sitting upon a battered old stool, and Hannah worries that she will get a splinter on her behind when she sits down upon it. Then she worries that she will not be able to climb up because it looks as tall as her.

The imposing Professor McGonagall lifts the hand up with long, graceful fingers, and fairly glares at her when she continues to stand in front of the stool, frozen to the spot. "Miss Abbot, if you would proceed."

The stern tone jarrs Hannah and she lets out a slight squeak as she manages miraculously to hop up onto the stool unscathed.

The hat is dropped on her head, and she panics when a voice, soft and careworn and wise, speaks. "Not Gryffindor... You can be brave, you know, but you are not brazen enough..." the voice says, and Hannah is stock still with fright and wonder, because the hat is actually _talking inside her head_. "I'm not talking inside your head, silly girl. I'm merely whispering softly. You wouldn't do well in Ravenclaw."

Hannah is slightly offended. But she feels that the Sorting Hat is just trying to sort her out, and so she patiently waits. "Ah... a stable temperment, and patience too... I can see that you will be loyal to your friends and your causes... Can I tell you a secret?"

Not sure exactly what to do, Hannah nods. The students in the hall, and the other first years, look on intently.

"The house I am going to sort you into is the least respected, the most underrated."

Hannah wonders if this is supposed to make her feel better. She certainly wasn't going to be in Slytherin... was she?

"But it is the house that houses the ones with the hearts of gold. So you will be a... HUFFLEPUFF!"

She thinks the name sounds ridiculous but she couldn't be happier as she half runs, half trips towards the awaiting table, which has burst into applause. She knows this is where she belongs.


	2. Bell, Katie

**Bell, Katie**

Her head is hurting and her body is hurting and she thinks she can't be dead or it wouldn't hurt so badly. The tiniest movement of her eyelid has her shaking with pain again, and she can hear screams as she is rising above the ground and she can see the shops of Hogsmeade and a sobbing Leanne and Harry Potter, who is looking pale and shocked and everyone is screaming but it is all drowned out by her own screams, so loud and piercing because it feels like a thousand knives are simultaneously clawing through her flesh and she has been thrown into swirling, boiling water and she almost wishes she could die instead of this, and surely there was no greater agony.

As she stares into Fred's unseeing eyes a year later, she thinks that the cursed necklace couldn't come close to the pain she feels now.


	3. Black, Regulus

**3\. Black, Regulus**

His obsession with Lord Voldemort grows each year. He has taken to cutting out any clipping with the mention of the Dark Lord's name out of the Daily Prophet and sticking them on his wall, a perfectly symmetrical, clean-edged collage of snarling faces and deaths.

He is lying back on his bed one day admiring his work when a man who looks rather like himself comes storming in, fire in his icy eyes. Regulus jumps up and points his wand defensively at the intruder. "What do you want?"

It does not matter that he has not seen Sirius for three years. It does not matter that before Sirius ran off to live with those blood traitors, before he changed, before he tacked up muggle posters on his wall and bought a _motorcycle_ , he had been Regulus's hero. Sirius has been burned off the family tree. He deserves the wand pointed at him.

"You joined him. You joined him, didn't you?"

He is confused and taken aback by the desperate tone in Sirius's voice, and lowers his wand. Suddenly he has been blasted backwards, and Sirius has ripped his sleeve, and he stares at the skull and snake on his forarm, his face twisted by anger and anguish. "No, don't you get it? He doesn't care what happens to you! You're just a pawn in his sick, twisted game. Reg, don't do this!"

"Why should I listen to you?" Regulus is defensive, and tries not to look frazzled because for the first time since he can remember Sirius has called him by his childhood name. Before Gryffindor and James Potter happened. His expression sours as he glares at the young man before him- handsome, smart, with a face that has seen many a smile. In short, everything he is not. His heart ices over.

"I know we haven't seen eye to eye, but I'm your brother. You have to believe me-"

Regulus finds his wand and a bright yellow flash sends Sirius flying backwards. There is a sickening crack as Sirius hits a chest of drawers. "You are no brother of mine."

He advances, the well-practiced killing curse on the tip of his tongue, as Sirius looks up at him, with daring him to follow through. He raises his wand.

"Get out, Sirius. You chose your path, and I've chosen mine."

Sirius is shaking his head as he gets up, wincing. "You should have just killed me."

As he limps out and apparates away with a _crack_ , Regulus cannot explain why he didn't.


	4. Black, Sirius

**4\. Black, Sirius**

Sirius sees in colors.

He sees green in Lily Evan's eyes, and green as he finds himself drunk alone because James has decided to take her out instead of spending time with his best friend for the thousandth time.

He sees blue, a lot of blue. The sky on a perfect day for quidditch, the bruise on his arm when he misses a bludger, the way he feels as he drifts farther and farther away from his family.

Red is the color of Fabian and Gideon Prewetts' hair. It is the color of the blood that is all over the place in which they drew their last breaths. It is the anger he feels when his brother joins the side that did this to his friends.

Lavender, violet, he sees them as calming shades. The flowers he gave to Marlene McKinnon on their first, and last, date. The color of the night sky when calm Remus Lupin turned into a monster, and they had the audacity to accompany him. It is the color of a curse which nearly kills him.

Peter Pettingrew reminds him of yellow. Yellow with fear, yellow hair, yellow teeth, always one to pale in comparision to others. He was yellow the day he sold out his best friends to Voldemort.

White is the rage he feels to replace the agonizing grief over their deaths. It is the color of the blast that kills thirteen muggles and allows Peter Pettingrew to escape and leave him a broken man.

The one color he wants nothing to do with is part of his name. And so he resolves to be the brightest, most brilliant shade of Black.

 

 

**Sirius is one of my favorite characters from the Marauders era, so this chapter was really fun to write (even though the content was rather dark.) Thanks for reading, I'll update soon!!! (Monday, probably.) As always, reviews are appreciated!**

**xx_Audrey**


	5. Brown, Lavender

**5\. Brown, Lavender**

Lavender Brown knows she is pretty. She has a flawless complexion and wavy dirty blonde hair and a dainty nose. She and Parvati have spent countless hours in front of the mirror, perfecting their look- making a boring school uniform look _good_. The results are not altogether disappointing. It is the day after Gryffindor has won the Quidditch match and she has found herself sitting on the arm of a chair, leaning over and being kissed enthusiastically by Ron Weasley.

It is the first time he's ever been kissed, this much she can tell. But she doesn't care, because he has become quite cute and as Keeper of the winning team he is quite the catch.

Hermione Granger thinks she is shallow, but she doesn't care. Hermione has her books, and Lavender has her looks.

She sees the sob before she hears it- and then Hermione's face looks horribly twisted and red and then she is running up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, bushy hair in a whirl. Ron breaks the kiss hurriedly and it knocks her off balance, and she is careening down, down, onto the soft rug.

Ron is mumbling apologetically, and the bruise is to her ego, not to her head, as people are looking on. "I hope you aren't using me to get to Hermione."

She may not seem like the brightest bulb, but she can put two and two together.

"I'm using you to forget Hermione." Ron looks her straight in the eye, and Lavender hesitates. She doesn't know if she wants to be a part of this mess. But then he has closed the distance between their lips and right now, everything is perfect.

 

**\---**

**Wow, I'm getting great responses, thanks for the reviews! I fully intend on finishing this. Some characters are harder to write than others, so updates may vary. Also school may get in the way (ew) but this is one story that will be completed!**

**P.S. I realize that some of the stuff may be non-canon, and for that I apologize, I'm writing the characters the way I see them.**

**Keep the reviews coming =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	6. Bulstrode, Millicent

**6\. Millicent Bulstrode**

Millicent had changed since her years at Hogwarts.

She had lost some of her trollish characteristics, and her previously frowning pug-like face has softened. She looked robust, and healthy, and as happy as one could be growing up on the wrong side of the war.

The war had disenchanted her. A part of her would never forgive her pureblood parents for blindly following a crazed psycopath to their deaths. In Hogwarts she had been young, and stupid. Very stupid, as she was constantly reminded by mocking whispers from the Gryffindors, and the smirk of Draco Malfoy.

She had changed, and so had he. They hadn't been friends at Hogwarts. He was something to be admired from afar, a ridiculously beautiful china-doll of a boy, with glass-gray eyes and almost silver hair, and a regal stance which clearly stated his superiority. Back then he scorned her. Now they lived two houses apart, and his wife invited her over for tea.

They had all changed. Her classmates of Slytherin house- dead, or deranged, or in various degrees of repentance.

Miliicent kissed her pug-faced, sleepy but smiling children goodnight. She had changed for the better.

 

**\---**

**This was a reallllly hard character to write. I went through four drafts, none of which seemed fitting. I think Millicent gets redemption in the end, so this is my take on her fate. As always, thanks for reading, and do review!**

**xx_Audrey**


	7. Chang, Cho

**7\. Chang, Cho**

Cho is in the astronomy tower, waiting for him. He said he had a surprise for her, and she wonders what it could be. Certainly not snogging, because he didnt like her that way, did he?

He is the world to her. And the stars and the moon and all the planets and comets and black holes and nebulas. She loves the way he casually slings his arm around her shoulders, the way he laughs because of something either completely stupid (her opinion) or completely brilliant (his opinion) she has said. She loves that he is honest, and sweet, and a good friend.

She loves him, she thinks. She knows she is only fifteen, and that love is an emotion she can barely understand, if at all. But what is this feeling, then? When her heart beats a thousand times per minute as they sit shoulder to shoulder, when her entire body feels warmer if he throws a smile her way, when a bad day can instantly be corrected with just a few words of his?

She has fallen, and she has fallen _hard_.

He had asked her to the Yule Ball, so of course he had feelings for her... he must, right? The grin specially reserved for her, the way he singles her out in the crowd, the attention he pays to her... he had to fancy her. But she is not so sure, because he is kind and perfect with everyone. He can make anyone feel like the center of his world. He certainly had become the center of _her's_.

"Cho? There you are!" his voice is low and gentle, and she turns around from her spot on the balcony and smiles. He flashes one of his own and she is momentarily blinded. Once she has regained control of her senses, she notices he has something large and metallic in his hands. "Telescope," he explains. "There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, but its too subtle to be seen by the naked eye."

"Oh." Cho hits herself. Could she seriously not think of anything else to say? "Its late, aren't you nervous about the Final Task tomorrow?"

He shakes his head as he sets up the telescope, pointing it this way and that, adjusting till finally it is in the correct position. He beckons her closer. "Look!"

And so nervously she places her face to the eye and there they are, looking like falling stars, or angels, either way it is beautiful and she gasps in delight. Bright red and yellow streaks against the inky black sky. She looks back at him. "Thanks for bringing me here, its brilliant!"

She jumps when she realizes how incredibly close he is to her. "I have something to tell you." He is looking more nervous than he was at the end of the Second Task, when he had pulled her from the water and looked incredibly embarrassed when she found out she was the most important to him. He had said she was like his best friend, after all. The way he is holding her hands now, she thinks he was lying. He leans forward and places a chaste kiss on her lips. "I love you Cho."

She knows she is grinning like a fool. He loves her! He does! Her mind is running away with her. Maybe they can have their first real date after the Final Task tomorrow, up here again! Although he would be tired... but still. They have today and possibly forever! Meteor showers forgotten, she flings her arms around him in a hug. "I love you too, Cedric."

**\---**

**In the books I didn't like Cho the way she was portrayed in the 5th book. In my mind she was likeable, and still upset over Cedric. I am aware this is slightly AU because I think they were going out before this. But it has more effect, and I like it this way. Author's artistic license, hehe. As always, thanks for the reads + reviews!**

**xx_Audrey**


	8. Crabbe, Vincent

**8\. Crabbe, Vincent**

He has to live up to his name, that is what his father always told him. Vincent, from the Latin _vincere_ \- to conquer. Only his father calls him Vincent. Everyone else calls him Crabbe. No one ever thinks he can do anything, be anything. They think he is a brute and nothing else. That his brain is the size of a pea, that his knuckles did the thinking.

Well, they are all wrong. Draco is wrong, and he doesn't have to listen to that whiny little excuse of a boy's bossy orders anymore. This year is different. This year he has excelled, he had learned, no, mastered the Dark Arts. And now Harry Potter is here in front of him, wandless, and Draco is screaming girlishly to not kill him, but he has a name to live up to. He must conquer Harry Potter, the Dark Lord would thank him anyway.

Suddenly everything is in a commotion, and Potter's filthy muggle friend and that pureblood traitor Weasley are running around, and Goyle is aiming curses at random, and this is his moment. A hot, red hot flame shoots from his wand. It is one of the deadliest substances on earth. Everything turns to ash as it swallows hungrily.

Smoke fills the air. And he cannot be happier, because they are all running away, and they will all get burned in _his_ fire. He will conquer.

**\---**

**Poor Crabbe! Too bad, really. Thank you for reading, reviews appreciated, next chapter coming soon!**

**xx_Audrey**


	9. Creevey, Colin

**9\. Creevey, Colin**

His favorite picture is the one he never got to take. The white fury of Voldemort, the second before he died, once and for all, by Harry Potter's hand in the Great Hall.

He saw it happening, oh, of course he did. His soul flitted around, refusing to leave until the matter was resolved. He floated along the ceiling, among the stars and the swirling clouds tinted gold from the rising sun, waiting, waiting.

His soul wandered, and Fred Weasley's too, and together they rallied up everyone, and he would like to think his scream of glee was the loudest at the end of that bastard. He was done here, he had watched, he had won because _they_ had won, Harry Potter and Dumbledore and the _good_ side, and it was over.

He wondered who had killed him. One second he was there, underaged but enraged enough to stay, to fight (he sees Dennis cry for months at night and feels slightly ashamed). But he remembers the feeling of beating them, of personally disposing of a Death Eater, and he wishes he could tell his brother, his parents, that it was worth it. The world was safer for them now.

He knows he won't be a celebrated hero, and that his funeral will not consist of the entire magical community like Dumbledore's had.

But he doesn't care, because Harry Potter suggested to his brother that they engrave a Polaroid camera on his tombstone.

It makes him smile every time.

**\----**

**Hey guys! I'm so sorry for not updating in the looongest time. I forgot that school and sports = craziness. But I'm back, and I'll try to update as often as I can. As always, thank you for the reviews, feedback is great =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	10. Crouch Jr., Bartemius

**10\. Bartemius Crouch**

His father always wanted him to be noble, and brave, and smart, and follow in his own impressive footsteps. His father always looked at him from over his nose, looked down on him. He was not good enough. He was _never_ good enough. He was mediocre in school, he was mediocre in personality, and he was the most mediocre Crouch that ever lived. He felt lost.

And then he fell in love.

He loved, and he was wild with passion, and his affair was with the Dark Arts. That forbidden practice, the bane of his overzealous father's existence. That forbidden love, which made his blood rush in frenzy and his being soar with joy... Oh yes...

And now Bellatrix Lestrange runs a finger down his spine, her red, red lips curving into a cruel, beautiful smile, and she whispers in his ear, "Kill them."

And he can feel the warmth spreading through his veins as he utters the forbidden word, feel the dark energy flow from his black heart into his black wand.

And he has the Longbottoms writhing and screaming on the cold stone floor, and their pained cries echo and magnify in the cavernous dim hall, and as they twitch and their eyes glaze over all he hears is his own maniacal laughter, ringing, ringing, bouncing off the silent walls and the silent bodies slumped at his feet.

**\---**

**Very dark chapter. I think Barty Crouch Jr. was pure evil, so I hope I got that part across. Just to note: he does not kill the Longbottoms, but they do suffer permanent damage, as told in the books. As always, reads and reviews appreciated =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	11. Delacour, Fleur

**11\. Delacour, Fleur**

_Hair that glows like the moon and eyes that sparkle like crystals catching the light. Skin pure as milk, so soft, so soft. Her smile, so sweet, so beautiful. When she walks boys faint and girls turn green with envy._

It is a shock when she finds out that Bill Weasley doesn't faint when she graces his presence. No, he glares at her viciously; his brown eyes furious and his strong hands are enclosed too tightly around her thins wrists. "Are you completely _mad_ , woman?"

These are the first words he ever says to her, spoken in a low, rushed breath that smells like cinnamon and cigars. He has pulled her into a disused room in the Gringotts upper cellar, and her mind has gone haywire because her heart is beating a thousand times faster than it should be humanly possible. Maybe it is because of her close scrape with death, but she knows it is because this man is standing two inches away from her, and although he looks like he could decapitate her with a swift wand movement, she is intoxicated by him.

She doesn't remember much of what happens afterward- she starts out speaking in English, but it soon deteriorates into rapid French and as he yells at her for being a complete _fool_ , what was she _thinking_ going near an unknown, possibly cursed object, especially these days when anyone positively associated with Harry Potter was a prime target for Voldemort, and did she think she could simply prance along and think she would stay _alive_?

He is waving his hands around now, handsome face expressive and fanged earring jiggling. Fleur has grown up, but for some reason she comes undone- and suddenly she is all but wailing, collapsed on the dusty floor with her head between her knees, trying to breathe and pull herself together. He stops ranting and looks positively frightened.

"Oh... _Merlin_ , don't cry! I didn't mean to make you cry- I'm here to just... just... just please stop crying?" He sits down beside her, tentatively placing an arm around her shoulders and muttering mostly nonsense, hoping to placate her. It takes her a bit to calm down, but finally when she does, she is just mostly embarassed.

"So. That was a horrid way to meet. But, I'm Bill Weasley, and I swear I'm not such an _arse_ usually." He looks at her hopefully, trying to lighten the mood. Fleur does not smile. "Okay. How about I take you out to dinner after work?"

"You do not 'ave to." It is the first thing she has said to him in a non-hysterical voice.

He looks at her intently. "But I want to. It might be fun. You might even end up thinking I'm a decent human being!"

She cannot help but crack a half-smile at this. "I doubt it."

"Oh, don't underestimate my charm, _madamoiselle_. Why, I bet we'll turn out just smashing, and before you know it we'll be married and live in a house by the sea and everything!" Bill is nudging her with his elbow, and now Fleur is laughing right alongside him.

"One date," she says, raising her arms up in defeat.

Bill Weasley grins so brightly it hurts her eyes.

That is all it takes, and Fleur Delacour finds herself falling, falling, falling for the man with the fanged earring, choppy maroon hair, and easy smile.

**\---**

**I went through about fourteen different ideas for this chapter. There is so much I want to say about Fleur, and so many ways I could picture her and Bill meeting for the first time, I think I may just write a whole fic on just them! As always, thank you for the reviews! I love constructive criticism. And that line in the Crabbe chapter about the smoke- totally get it, I completely forgot to type out "Smoke fills the air".**

**Reviews appreciated =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	12. Diggory, Cedric

**12\. Diggory, Cedric**

Hufflepuffs have always been a friendly bunch. Loyal, trustworthy, the first to share and the last to desert a friend. Too nice for their own good.

So when he is racing towards the Tri-Wizard cup, and he gets there first, his Hufflepuff instincts kick in. He skids to a halt, and a moment later Harry has also arrived. Both are kneeling over, unable to breathe, but suddenly the race is over, and the prize is right there.

He is chivalrous, and tells Harry to take it. Harry's grass-green eyes fairly bug out, and if it weren't for the gravity of the situation he would burst out laughing. Harry insists that he take it. Each of them seem to be backing away from the prize, the tainted prize that turned has them against each other, that has pitted schools and nations against each other for the sake of being the best.

But he wants the prize just the same. He did work for it. He was the chosen Tri-Wizard Champion, whereas Potter was a fluke. But still, as Harry pleads with him to just take the cup in his hands, even as his fingers inch closer, his heart will not let him close a grip around the gleaming handle.

"Let's take it together."

Hufflepuffs were always a friendly bunch. Loyal, trustworty, the first to share and the last to desert a friend. Too nice for their own good.

 

**\----**

**To all my readers, thank you so much for continuing to keep up with this story! To all my reviewers, thank you so much for your feedback! I'll keep posting whenever I can between school + sports + life. Thanks for sticking with me =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	13. Dumbledore, Albus

  
**13\. Dumbledore, Albus**

So here he is, a man who once had great promise, who once was regarded as the most brilliant wizard to have ever lived.

Here he is, hiding and pacing in a dark cave with but three bats for company, while a dictator with a love for power and pink domineers over his students. His students, who did not listen to him, who are naked and powerless against this beautiful, terrible force called love, who will join sides for love, who will laugh and cry and kill for love.

Love for Hogwarts, for the Wizarding world, for the greater good, is the terrible force that pushes him to lead boy on a dangerous path that will result in certain death.

And love will be the reason the boy follows.

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**Sorry I haven't updated in forever, life (school, sports, college apps!) caught up to me!.Albus Dumbledore... I haven't done him justice, but I really tried. Read + Review =)**


	14. Dursley, Dudley

**Disclaimer:** Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**14\. Dursley, Dudley**

There was a shout, then a burst of bright white, he could tell through his eyes though they were clamped tightly shut. "THIS WAY!" He heard Harry's receding footsteps.

_...He was five again, standing alone in the playground. His parents had left him to go attend to matters nearby. They told him they would be back in a short while..._

The air was frigid, seeping into his skin so he felt he would never be warm again. He could hear rattling breaths, the soft sinister sweep of weightless movement nearby.

_...They came out of nowhere. Five boys, tall and broad, with identical sinister smiles. The glint of malice in their eyes as they came closer frightened him, and he froze..._

Each breath was shallow, his heart was beating so fast he was sure it was not beating at all. Fear overtook him, as whatever _it_ was circled him like a vulture.

_..."Hey, Fatso!" one of the boys taunted, a stick in hand. They circled him like vultures, closing in on their prey. He backed away, gripping the cold metal handle of the roundabout..._

A clammy hand stroked his cheek. Rank breath of a hundred dead carcasses filled his nostrils. He was devoid of any happiness, any hope.

_...He was spinning so fast he thought his head would fly off. Tears streamed down his face, his nose was running, his heart hurt. "Oh, you want to spin faster, fatty? Maybe some of those sweets will fall off!" And they shoved the roundabout faster, hooting with glee, and he cried harder. "Where's your mummy now, eh? No daddy here to save you. They don't want you anymore, you're too fat for them, they hate you. They hate you, they left you all by yourself, because you are the most awful boy that ever lived, and no one loves you!"..._

He had sunk to the ground, curled up in fetal position, too scared to move. It was all over, all over...

_...The roundabout suddenly stopped turning, and then he was flying, not the kind he'd imagined, not like a bird. He flew like a heavy brick, straight forward into the ground. He heard a crack, his nose was throbbing, his elbows were bleeding, and he kept crying, crying, as the boys continued to taunt him. "Get up, you piece of lard, have another ride..."_

"Dudley? DUDLEY!"

_...The boys reeled back, faces covered with fright. Painful boils had erupted on their faces and arms. Harry stood there, looking bewildered, a scrawny, skinny stick. Not fat like him. "You_ freak _!" the largest boy cried, dropping his stick. He turned on his heel and ran, the others following on his heel. Harry plodded over to him in his oversized shoes and rolled a too-long sleeve, urging him to stand up. Just then, he heard a familiar high-pitched shriek. "Dudley? DUDLEY!"_

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

_"Diddykins, what happened to you?!" his mother screeched, shoving the scrawny black haired boy aside. He simply cried harder. "The boy did it!" roared the walrus-moustached man; whirling on Harry, he stooped and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. "What have you done? What have you done, you freak? Like your wicked mother and father, eh, hurting innocent people, eh boy?" The boy shouted pitifully, "I didn't do it! There were big boys here-" Vernon slapped his cheek with the backside of his hand, sending him sprawling onto the pavement of the playground. "Daddy!" Dudley managed to say feebly. "Daddy, he didn't-"..._

There was a commotion, as the batty old lady from across the street came hobbling up. She was shouting jargon to Harry, who looked shell-shocked, and then she had grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip, screaming, "Get _up_ , you useless lump, get _up_!" Harry was hoisting him up and with difficulty they started towards his house.

_"Its okay, Dudley, mummy's here. Hush now!" His mother cried, scooping him up with much difficulty into her bony arms. She turned to Vernon, who continued to yell at the boy, now curled up quietly on the ground. "Good for nothing liar, just like your good for nothing parents..."_

They had reached home. His mother screamed, "Who did this to you?" He pointed to Harry. "Was it- was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use- his _thing_?" he nodded. "I didn't!" Harry protested angrily.

_"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" Harry screamed as his father dragged him back to the house. "I swear it wasn't me!" Dudley stared as Harry was unceremoniously thrown into the closet under the stairs and his father locked the door from the outside. "Oh Diddykins... mummy and daddy won't ever leave you again..."_

The memory he had tried to erase, tried to cover up, came to the surface like bile. He had forgotten that Harry had not, in fact, hurt him. The truth, the cold hard ugly truth, hit him like a ton of bricks, hit him harder than the boys on the playground so many years ago. He retched.

__

__

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**So I was unhappy with this chapter, as was my reviewer, and I thought- I could do better. So I've completely rewritten it. It's Dudley's scrape with the Dementors in Order of the Pheonix, and he relives his worst memory. I'd like to think he has a bit of a conscience after all this.**

**Thanks as always for reading. Double thanks for reviewing =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	15. Dursley, Petunia

**15\. Dursley, Petunia**

"You have OCD, Tunia."

"I do NOT!" the girl shrieked, stalking away.

The redhead followed, eyes big, expression sincere. "Its nothing bad, Tunia! Some people are naturally obsessively compulsively cleaning things- I don't really know what the psycho guy was saying-"

Petunia whirled around, blonde hair flying into disarray. "Its a psychiatrist, Lily, and don't ever speak of it again."

Lily jogged up to her big sister, clamping two freckled hands around Petunia's porcelain one. "He said it was normal, that a lot of people have it..."

"Its NOT normal. I don't have it. I'm not a freak! I'm NOT!"

"Tunia, could you stop trying to fix my collar? I can't breathe."

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**Sorry for not updating in forever! This chapter has been floating around in my head for a while. I always thought Petunia was OCD about order and cleanliness, and so I did a sort of fun tidbit on it.**

**As always, thanks for reading, doublethanks for reviewing =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	16. Dursley, Vernon

**Dursley, Vernon.**

He nervously fiddles with his sweaty hands, then opts to wipe them discreetly on the tablecloth. His face glistens with perspiration, his heart thudding much too loudly. Vernon Dursley prides himself on being a strong young man, yet right now he is terrified. He wants to run away, because he doesn't think he can take the blow of rejection.

"So," he says, more gruffly than he intended.

Petunia looks up at him with her blue eyes. She had been systematically cutting each ravioli into precise smaller squares, lining them up neatly in rows. "So," she says.

"You look nice." And she does. She looks nice, with nice blonde hair perfectly styled, nice clothes perfectly arranged, nice delicate features, nice red lipstick. She looks nice. Not beautiful. They both know this, it hangs in the air, unspoken.

"You look nice, too." He wears a crisp new suit, his hair is immaculately gelled, his new moustache trimmed smartly. He looks nice. Not handsome. They both know this, it hangs in the air, unspoken.

They are both average, he thinks. Average people with average lives. It is the normalcy about her that first drew him in. Certainly, she does have an awfully odd habit of cleaning and straightening everything, and cranes her neck to spy on others so much he fears it will elongate even more, but in essence she is average. Not terribly bright, but not terribly dull. She is like him.

And so he takes a deep breath, stands up, kneels in front of her. "Petunia Evans, will you marry me?"

She stares for a moment, her eyes unreadable. Is this what she wants? Vernon can sense a conflict within her. Finally, she smiles, a perfect dainty smile. "Yes. That would be nice."

She will do anything for normalcy, Vernon marvels, as he smiles back, placing the large diamond ring on her finger.


	17. Evans, Lily

**17\. Evans, Lily.**

_New Years Resolutions_

_Age 5_

"Mummy, what's a resolution?"

Mrs. Evans looks down at her younger daughter, amused. She puts her champagne down and pats her lap. Lily clambers up, eyes frighteningly bright. "A resolution is something you try to follow."

She is met with a confused look. "For example, sweetheart, you could say you've made a resolution to clean your room starting this new year."

Lily wrinkles her nose and jumps down. "Do I have to?"

Mrs. Evans nods sternly. Lily slumps her shoulders and walks away. Mrs. Evans laughs and takes another sip from her champagne flute.

_Age 7_

"Petty, what's your new year's resolution?"

"I'm going to look pretty." Petunia answered, staring at herself in the mirror.

"I thought a resolution was something you hadn't done before," Lily said, puzzled. "You always look pretty, anyways."

Petunia shook her head sagely. "I'm too average-looking, you see."

"Oh. Well then. Me too." Lily nodded. "I'm going to look pretty, too."

Petunia rolled her eyes. "You don't need to try."

_Age 9_

"I'll do all my chores, and be good, and get good marks, and I'll make my own lunch, I'll be perfect if you'll get better, mummy, I swear!" Lily clamps Mrs. Evans' bone-white hands in her own. "I swear."

Mrs. Evans smiles wanly at her. "Thank you, dear. I'll try to get better. Happy new year."

Mr. Evans shoos his daughters out of the hospital room, talking to his wife in low whispers gravely. All she can make out are the terrifying words " _take care of them for me..._ "

Petunia's eyes are swollen and tears run down them freely. "Fix her," she whispers.

Lily feels her own eyes prickling. She is scared. "I can't. I can't."

"Then, magic can't be real," Petunia hisses, eyes flashing. "Your stupid, filthy friend was lying after all."

_Age 11_

Marlene bounces up and down on the couch, blonde hair flying, "My New Years resolution is to become a good flyer so I can make the Quidditch team next year!"

"Maybe you should make a resolution to not hurt yourself, instead," Alice suggests wisely.

Marlene promptly tumbles off the couch, wincing and nursing her bruised elbow. She glares at Alice and Lily. "Don't. Say. A word."

Lily giggles but tries to disguise it by coughing. Marlene throws a pillow at her head. "Hey!" Lily cried.

"What about you, Lily? What's your resolution?" Alice asks.

Lily bites her lip thoughtfully. "I want to get top marks. You know, so I can have a good future." _And convince Petunia I'm not a freak..._

Marlene yawns. "Oh Lily, you are an absolute _bore_."

_Age 13_

On her way back to the common room after dinner, she finds Sirius Black looking angrier than she had ever seen him, angrier than any thirteen year old should look. She hesitates before asking softly, "Hey. What's wrong? I thought you went home for the holidays?"

He looks up at her with stormy eyes. "Home?" he fairly spits with disgust. "You know, I've just made a new years resolution. I resolve to _never_ be anything like my screwed up family. You're lucky, you know, you've prolly got a nice mum and dad and alright siblings. No one telling you you're a filthy piece of shit, that you're worthless..."

Lily stares for a moment. "Actually, Black, we might have a lot more in common than you think. First of all, my mum's dead. My father never comes home because he's thrown himself into work since she died. And my sister hates me for being a witch, tells me I'm a screwed up freak on a regular basis..."

Sirius suddenly breaks into a grin. "Well then Lilykins! Welcome aboard! Lets make resolutions together to not let our families bother us!"

Lily is astonished at his change in mood. He extends a hand towards her. She looks at it warily. "Are you going to prank me?"

"Not tonight, at least." There is gleam in Sirius' eyes. Lily shakes his hand and resolves to get herself onto the good side of the Marauders.

_Age 15_

"Go out with me, dearest Lily?"

Oh god, there he is again. He's got a goofy smile on his arrogant face. He thinks he is all that. He thinks, just because he is cute, and a star chaser, that he can win her over. Well, he's rather dense isn't he? For all the smarts he seems to possess, he doesn't seem to understand that she won't give in. She won't let him win. She can't.

"A beautiful girl like you belongs on my arm," he says in what he thinks is a charming manner. He throws her a winning smile. He thinks shes beautiful. She thinks he has nice dimples... No, no, NO! "Say yes, my darling, and I'll be your prince!" She won't let him win. She can't.

"NO!" she explodes. They have an audience, she notices. As usual. They know what's coming. "No, Potter, I will not go out with you! I'm not some prize to be won!"

"You should be flattered I asked you out," he reasons. In the background, Sirius slaps a hand to his forhead, Remus shakes his head, Peter winces, Marlene and Alice share amused looks.

Lily knows she has turned an ugly shade of magenta. "I should be flattered?" Her voice is getting increasingly shriller. " _I_ should be flattered? You should be flattered that I haven't hexed your pea-sized brains out! You should be flattered that I'm actually even _speaking_ to you. Because face it, Potter. You are an arrogant son-of-a-bitch and you will _never_ have me!"

He has the audacity to grin. "You look so pretty when you blush."

Lily sputters incoherently.

"I'm going to make it my new years resolution to get you to go out with me." he says seriously.

"Well, I'm going to make it mine to never say yes." And with that, she flounces away.

_Age 17_

"Kiss me." James Potter says as he flops onto the couch next to her.

"What?" Lily stares, astonished. He is looking at her with such intensity that she feels she might break.

"Lily Evans, I want you to kiss me." Neither of them are completely sober, but neither of them are drunk either. So why is he doing this, now? He hasn't asked her out in ages, hasn't _looked_ at her like that, hasn't told her that she's beautiful, that she's his favorite flower.

She is confused, rooted to the spot. Music is blaring and people are in high spirits, but all she can hear is deafening silence. "Why?"

"Because. I..." He seems to have difficulty forming the words. "Well. I've made a new years resolution, you see."

His hand has found its way around hers. She can't breathe. "What might that be?" she chokes out. She can hear chanting. The seconds are running out.

"To kiss you, and keep kissing you, until you give in." He doesn't wait. The first second of the new year and he pulls her towards him, smashing his lips onto hers.

Lily pulls away after a moment of shock, eyes blazing. "Merlin, James! You can't do this to me! You can't! I can't!" Even as she says it, he is kissing her again, angrily, deeply, and she realizes she can't win. "I've made a resolution," she says, pulling away with effort. "I'm going to give you a chance, after all." And she kisses him.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sirius fall off an armchair in surprise, and Marlene grins maniacally, drunkenly giving them the thumbs up before snogging Sirius silly. She will probably regret that tomorrow.

_Age 19_

She is wearing black. They all are. They are all wearing black, like their very tainted souls are showing through. James grips her hand, squeezes it comfortingly. They sit silently around the long table, staring at the figure atop, serene in death.

She isn't lost. They haven't lost her. If she was lost, she could be found. "She's gone. Damnit. She's gone, and for _WHAT_?" Sirius breaks the tense silence, banging his fist on the table, handsome features contorted by grief and rage.

Remus buries his head in his hands, gray hair standing out sharper than usual. Peter looks paler than usual. Alice speaks. "Let's make a new years resolution." She says quietly, steadily. "Let's make a resolution, to fight, to make sure Marlene hasn't died in vain."

"A resolution to make sure we make this world forever safe from that psychopath," Moody's voice is gruff, low, intense.

Sirius grips the table, knuckles white. "A resolution to kill every last son of a bitch who did this to her."

"A resolution to defend what's right, even when its the hardest thing to do." Remus murmurs quietly.

"Even if it means death," Frank Longbottom clarifies.

Lily feels sick, but nods.

_Age 21_

She sits tiredly in the armchair. Sleep is rare these days, but tonight is special. It is the end of a year, a year filled with blood and tears and life and death. She feels older than her years. Harry wails in her lap.

How beautiful, she thinks, to not know the horrors of the world. To not have seen death, to not have brandished a wand and killed. She thinks about this. By definition, she is a murderer. She seeks out the enemy and destroys. She has closed off her heart, has allowed her soul to be blackened.

"All for you, baby, its all for you..." She stares at the bundle in her arms, now peacefully asleep. James carries him upstairs, puts him in his crib. They are silent.

"Do you ever feel, like we're just the walking dead?" Lily asks James softly as they head to their own room.

James smiles grimly. "Every moment."

"I can't remember the last time I felt alive," Lily continued. "So lets make a resolution. To feel alive. For at least tonight."

And with that James sweeps her into his arms, lays her on the bed, and kisses her fiercely. "I love you. I'll die for you, if thats the only way for you to have the chance to feel alive."

They make love. Lily sobs the entire time, and James doesn't have a sparkle in his eye, both thinking a resolution shouldn't last only a few hours.

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**Definitely one of the most meaningful chaps to me, a little late for new years. Hope everyone had a good holiday! Enjoy & review, I love feedback=)**

**xx_Audrey**


	18. Finnegan, Seamus

**18\. Finnegan, Seamus**

Somehow, Dean convinces him to go out to the pub. "Its a _Saturday night_ , mate," is the argument.

So here he is, staring rather morosely at the granite countertop of the bar, while Dean chats up to a pretty brown-haired woman to his left. He leans in conspiratorially, giving her an easy smile, touching her arm every now and then. She giggles appropriately. Seamus rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, the bartender's gravelly voice pulls him out of his reverie. "Here," the grizzled man says in a thick Irish brogue, sliding a pint of lager at him, "Compliments of the lady over there."

Seamus turns towards the bartender's nod, and does a double-take. Well, he'll be damned, its Parvati Patil! She waves him over, shooting him a friendly smile.

He grabs the tankard and makes his way to where she is seated, at a low table for two. He takes in her appearance, appreciative of the work of time. She looks better than ever, her hair trimmed to her shoulders, her eyes expressive and rimmed by kohl. "Haven't seen you in years, Finnegan," she says conversationally, and Seamus squints a bit because her teeth are so perfectly white.

"Thanks for the lager, Parvati, but I don't drink."

He wants to smack himself the moment the words tumble out of his mouth. The first words he says to her in years, and this is what he says! He knows he is rather red and hopes the dim lighting camelflouges it. Parvati fairly gapes at him. "Oh... well..." she chokes out, half torn between laughter and seriousness. "But you're Irish!"

"Exactly. Growing up around a drunk town, given beer as a baby, doesn't make for a good experience," he says solemnly.

Parvati stares some more, before bursting out into laughter. "You always were funny, Seamus Finnegan."

A brilliant line comes into existence inside his head. Should he risk it? Well, he always has been one of those speak-before-thinking kind of blokes. So he grins and says, "You always were beautiful, Parvati Patil."

The next second he is covered in sticky liquid. "Some things never change," she says, smirking at the empty tankard in her hand, but he can tell that she is blushing. She orders another glassful.

"So then you still fancy me, eh?" He knows he is being cheeky.

Parvati rolls her eyes, takes the pint newly placed on the formica table, and throws the llager at him. Seamus sputters incoherntly. She smiles. "Maybe I do. Maybe you should ask me out to dinner."

"Maybe I will!" Seamus declares. "Go out with me! Tomorrow!"

"If you insist. And for the record, I don't drink either. It was just way too much fun throwing stuff at you." Parvati smiles sweetly, before getting up, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, and disappearing out the door, hips swaying mesmerizingly.

Seamus clutches his chest, staring after her. "Blimey..."

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**I'm on a writing roll! Please review, I miss getting feedback =( Also, check out my new fic, The Five Steps of Attraction. Its the Fleur/Bill story I've been wanting to write ever since the Fleur chapter in this fic! Cheers =)**

**xx_audrey**


	19. Flitwick, Filius

**19\. Flitwick, Filius.**

"Mr. Potter! A rubber chicken! A _squawking_  rubber chicken! _Honestly_!" The class is in an uproar.

The boy simply sits there, staring at the offending object in his hand as if he has no idea what has happened. Always trying to act innocent.

"Professor- I didn't do it-"

"This is your last warning. The pair of you are wreaking havoc during my lessons!" He tries to look stern, but a chuckle wells inside him, because this trouble-seeking boy is so like the one who had sat in this same seat, so many years ago. Before he turns back to his paperwork to let the class resume their practice spellwork, he adds thoughtfully, "You ought to try to be more creative, your father once set a herd of minature elephants loose under the desks. Absolute terror, he was."

He doesn't miss the green-eyed grin the boy shoots to his partner in crime, formulating a new plan in his head no doubt. The girl to his left hisses at him to behave and actually work. There is a succession of eyes being rolled.

Flitwick smiles to himself. Some things never change.

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**reviews appreciated.**


	20. Fudge, Cornelius

**20\. Fudge, Cornelius.**

"As the Chief of the Wizengamot, it is my honor to welcome our new Minister of Magic... Cornelius Fudge." The older man said his name so softly, Cornelius was sure he had misheard. But when applause broke out and his colleagues began to give him congratulatory pats on the back... _oh my_ , he mused, _I never thought I would become the most powerful man in the world..._

"Congratulations, Mr. Fudge. But remember, absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Cornelius turned to the wizened man whose bright blue stare was frightfully knowing. He managed a nervous smile. "Thank you, Albus. I'll keep that in mind."

_Old fool_ , _always with his cryptic nonsense..._

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**Haven't updated in a while, but I'm still writing, I promise! Feedback would be really, really, REALLY appreciated.**

**xx_Audrey**


	21. Gaunt, Merope

**21\. Gaunt, Merope**

She goes mad.

In the end, that is what it comes down to. Perhaps she is madly in love, or perhaps she goes mad with loathing for herself. Perhaps she is mad simply because her father and brother have given her no reason to see reason.

Perhaps she goes mad because her eyes look in different directions, and every moment she stumbles, careens off the edge, catches her breath, cries as she cleans the dirty pan with a dirty rag as her dirty brother hisses and breaks the snow white rabbits' neck with his dirty teeth.

Perhaps she goes mad because the only sight clear to her is Tom Riddle, that beautiful man she makes hers with a beautiful potion and life is beautiful for a while until one day she looks in the mirror and it shatters because she is not beautiful and it has all been a beautiful lie to cover up what a wicked, disgusting, ugly woman she is.

Perhaps she goes mad because she falls in love with the baby inside her that has been made with induced love, and it kills her, it really does kill her, that Tom hates her, he really does hate her, he hates her so much he throws her onto the front doorstep swollen belly first, slamming the door behind him, and her breathing is torn and ragged as her heart.

Perhaps there is no real reason she goes mad. She simply does. Madness cannot be explained by reason, after all.

And so she hands the baby to the austere woman in black, gasps his name, and dies on the front doorstep of the orphanage, laughing because that is all she can do to keep insanity away for her last few breaths.


	22. Gaunt, Morfin

**21\. Gaunt, Morfin**

_SSSSSSSSsssssssssssss ssssSSS sssSSSSsssshhhhhh..._

Even "I want breakfast" sounds evil, he thinks with satisfaction.

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**Please review =)**


	23. Goyle, Gregory

 

**23\. Goyle, Gregory.**

 

He stares at Rita Skeeter blankly for a long time, unsure of what to say. The acid-green quill hovers in mid-air, poised above parchment. He swallows the lump in his throat.

"This is what happens when the Dark Lord falls," he begins, his voice low, words coming out in a slew of mumbles.

Rita Skeeter's eyes widen, her carefully penciled in eyebrows shooting way up. He pauses. "Go on, then," she hisses, her gaze darting about. "Tell all!"

"And you're absolutely sure no one will know it was me?" he inquires in a whisper.

The blonde woman rolls her eyes. "No, and I'll arrange for a hundred galleons to be put into your Gringott's account." She glances about the dim muggle pub warily, then leans in. "Continue, Mr. Goyle."

"This is what happens when the Dark Lord falls," Gregory Goyle begins once more, taking a deep breath. "You lose everything. Not that there was much left anyways. But you lose the rest, because its not enough to get away with a little piece of happiness when you're on the bad side and the good side has won."

A seedy looking man clears his throat nearby, giving them nervous looks. Rita Skeeter whips her head around, lips pursed in annoyance. The man somberly turns back to his tankard, staring at its contents.

"What do you mean, losing everything? You think the evil side should not suffer?" the reporter in front of him prods.

"You're going to turn my words into something else," he mutters nervously.

Rita's ruby red lips curl into a smirk. "Perhaps you are not as dim-witted as I thought, then."

He glares at her and stands up deliberately, drawing himself up to full height. "I don't have to tell you anything, then," he challenges, his massive shadow engulfing the thin woman.

"Shut up, and sit down," Rita snaps, poison laced in each staccatto word. "That is, unless you fancy a nice, long stay in Azkaban?"

He feels trapped.

Slowly, he sits down, hands trembling. "What do you want from me?" he asks, a tinge of helplessness in his voice.

"I just want to research the dark minds of dark wizards," Rita Skeeter replies sweetly, "Britain's been dying to know all, and I'm going to give it to them. Ever since that Granger girl-" here she looks up and there is malice in her clear blue eyes, "Lets just say you are the key to my success once more. So tell me. What rotten things plagued your mind? What made you decide to follow a bloodthirsty killer, to kill your peers?"

Gregory Goyle looks at the sharp woman in front of him and smiles a little despite himself. "I never killed anybody."

"Surely you are lying!"

He shakes his head. "So really, Miss Skeeter, you have the wrong man. I was on the other side because that is all I was raised to know, and its not a crime when you're still in school and suddenly for once you are good at something- I was good at Dark Magic, because someone _let_ me be good at it. But while I have performed the Cruciatus curse, its always been following orders, and quite honestly, I've done enough following in my lifetime." He gets up, feeling relieved.

"Wait! Stop right there!" Rita screeches, "Or should I remind you-"

"Honestly, I'd have been thrown in Azkaban long ago if I belonged there," Gregory Goyle announced. "I've lost my parents, my friends, and my future already. I think I'll be keeping my dignity."

Rita Skeeter's mouth opens, then closes, as she give him a look of outrage. "Why I _never_ -"

"Goodbye, Ms. Skeeter. I think I'll go try to live the rest of my life without manipulative bitches like you." And with a slow smile, Gregory Goyle walks out of the dingy pub. The sunlight hits his face and he feels free.

 

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**Goyle was incredibly tough to write. In the end I chose a redemption story, because I'm an eternal optimist.  
**

**Please REVIEW, I miss all of your feedback!**

**xx_Audrey**


	24. Granger, Hermione

**24\. Granger, Hermione**

_Dear Hermione,_

_H is for Hermione, because I love your name. Even when I first met you and thought you were a bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all, I still liked your name._

_E is for Excellence, because you always were a rather brilliant bird. Since opposites attract, I think we'd be a perfect match._

_R is for Roses, because your shampoo smells like it, I think. It smells like some sort of flower, but since I am a true man, I can't name flowery scents and all. So your hair smells like roses to me. Also, when you're really angry at me, your cheeks turn pink, like roses. Its pretty._

_M is for Migraine, because I don't know about you, but half the time you drive me up a bloody wall with your banshee-like screaming, and I have to take a Sleeping Draught to get rid of the headache. Its nothing personal. I love you for it._

_I is for Insane, because that is what you are. I'm sorry you had to hear it from me, but no one else is brave enough to tell you the truth. There is no other explanation for your crazy actions, like willingly taking more classes than the time allows, like that time in third year? You're a madwoman. And what about actually going to the Yule Ball with Krum? Seriously. What were you_ thinking _?!_

_O is for Outstanding, because I'm pretty sure that is the mark you got on every single O.W.L. except Defense, where I'm just naturally more skilled, but its okay. You can be the healer and leave the bad-guy arse-kicking to me._

_N is for Kneazle, because I didn't know there was a silent K at the beginning of the word, and anyways, I dunno what else starts with an N. Anyways, N reminds me of that beast of a pet of yours, Crookshanks, and all the times he's had a fit and knocked over bottles of ink all over my essays, and all the times I've had a fit he ruined my hard work and you've said "Oh,_ Honestly! _" and fixed them._

_E is for- hang on, why are there two E's in your name? Couldn't your parents have given you any bloody old name with just one e? Its hard enough coming up with one word! Bollocks. Hm. Hmmmm... E is for ever, which is part of forever, and even though we yell at each other and I just had a fit and walked out on you and Harry when I really shouldn't have, we're still forever, as friends or friendlier (I'm not sure.) I'm a prat, I know, but that's never stopped you from liking me before! And maybe when this whole war is done, and if we're still alive (morbid, isn't it?) we'll be together forever._

_I'd do your last name too, but I've botched up the first so much its a service to not continue. Not as if you'll ever see this- I don't even know where you are, or whether you'll ever speak to me again, that is, if I find you. I'm sorry for being a class-A git Hermione, but thats just my strange way of showing I care, honestly._

_So, that's that._

_Love,_

_Ron_

 

\--

"Ron!" she is grinning like a fool.

An annoyed voice floats up the stairs, mixing with the sounds of conflict and clashing metal. "I'm busy!"

"This is more important than whatever you're watching on the telly!" she shouts back.

She just _knows_ he has let out an annoyed huff. "Merlin and Agrippa, Hermione, what do you want?"

"I was cleaning out some old trunks in the attic, and I found the most _interesting_ note..." She clears her voice and in a deeper pitch recites, " _Dear Hermione, H is for-"_

Ron is up the stairs in two seconds flat, eyes wide and face approaching the color of his hair. He leaps at her, long arms outstretched. "Gimme that!"

She shimmies out of his reach,  " _M is for Migraine, because I don't know about you-"_ she stops because she is giggling uncontrollably.

Ron crosses his arms, glowering at her. "I really don't see why it is necessary of you to take the mickey out me for some love poem."

Hermione is silent for a moment, and then she is howling with laughter. "Love poem? _Love_ poem? Love _poem_?"

"We all know you are excellent at stressing words," Ron snaps, his face an ugly magenta.

Hermione quiets down a bit. "Ronald Weasley," she manages in between laughter, "this is why I love you so much."

He perks up a bit. "Why is that?" he asks, still a little wary.

"Because you are the most annoying, endearing, misguided carrot-top I have ever come across in my life," she answered, smiling.

Ron looks daggers. "And you say _I'm_ bad at compliments?"

Hermione smooths the note, folds it, and puts it in her pocket carefully. "You make me laugh," she says more seriously now, "You put up with my mood-swings, you love me despite my uptight ways-"

"Because of your uptight ways," Ron corrects, a small smile appearing on his face, which is now pleasantly pink.

Hermione laughs. "And I love you because you're a prat. I must be insane after all."

"Finally, she understands!" He receives a slap upside the head. "Ow! Hermione, I thought we were finally understanding each other!"

"But where's the fun in that?"

Ron exhales in annoyance, hair sticking up at odd angles and face turning nearly muave. Giggling, Hermione pulls him down by the shirt and kisses him.

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**I'm feeling fluffy today. Like it? Hate it? Review it.**

**xx_Audrey**


	25. Greyback, Fenrir

**25\. Greyback, Fenrir**

_Mmm_... he thinks, sniffing through the air and catching the scent of a most succulent something. _Little boy_. He grins, his lips curling back, teeth dripping with venom. The sweet breeze ruffles his hair, he is bathed in this scent he loves so much. So... _human_.

Down on his haunches he goes, like the feral beast he is, yellow eyes glinting, nostrils flaring. A low growl escapes his throat. Oh, to taste flesh, to bite, to bite- only a little longer now- he glances at the crimson sky. He waits, he waits patiently, he waits, patiently hidden behind the boughs at the corner of the little wood, patiently waits to bite, to taste flesh.

Down the sun dips, until the horizon is purple fading fast to deep blue-black. The anticipation builds. Venus pops into existence, then little by little there it is- his beloved white orb. Full today. There is Orion the hunter, and he fancies himself the hunter tonight. One more minute now, and he can _taste_ the boy, that little boy, sitting in the yard with his mother in the kitchen and his father upstairs, and he is playing quietly under an apple tree.

Like clockwork, the moon reaches its place. Like clockwork, he hears the first tear of clothing, the first tear of muscle, as he grows, grows, and he _likes_ the pain, he welcomes it (in his own twisted way it makes him feel more alive) and little by little he loses his mind (and he likes this, too) and loses his soul, (or maybe the wolf _is_ his soul) and then he is growling and up on feet now slowly slowly don't startle smelling so good yes, _yes_ , want that blood, run, run, ready, growling and yes yes yes dinner YES-

The boy screams, and his mother shrieks, "REMUS!" and he sees red and then nothing.

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**I kind of got discouraged for a while because only one person bothered to review, I wasn't sure if anyone was even reading! Then I saw the stats and well people are definitely reading, we're at 6000 views! But I would really, really appreciate ANY feedback, it keeps me going, so PLEASE REVIEW!**

**xx_Audrey**


	26. Grindelwald, Gellert

**26\. Grindelwald, Gellert**

Swirling high above the night he used to dream of silver cloaks and defeating death. Of wands made of elder wood that could bend the will of the most poweful of men, that could outperform and outlast and outlive. Of power and subordinance and all for The Greater Good, and he'd share it with the brilliant not yet man with beautiful blue eyes.

Swirling high above the night he sees the destruction and a spectrum of deadly curses lighting up the sky. He is above it all, sitting on his lofty throne  of cumulus cloud and power, repeating in his head, _For the Greater Good, the Greater Good..._ as he waits for the brilliant man with the beautiful blue eyes to come find him, to come and try and shatter his dreams, _their_ dreams.

Sure enough, in a swirl of cerulean robes and amber hair, brilliant Albus Dumbledore with the blazing blue eyes hovers before him atop a gaunt thestral. He stares stonily at his once-love.

"Fancy seeing you here, Albus!" he shouts over the whistling of the wind.

"Hello, Gellert!" Albus roars back, and if it weren't for their fierce stances and the dangerous volume of their voices, one might have imagined they were casually exchanging pleasantries.

Instead of where they are, lovers turned enemies.

In another moment they are in the citadel of Nurmengard, poised on the harsh stone paraphets and studying the ground from a dizzying altitude. The thestral circles the highest of the towers upon which they stand, spiraling downward, blending into the dark grey mist with a mournful, preening cry.

The heavens themselves are on fire tonight, burning with bated breath to know the outcome of what is to come. There are meteors hurtling into the clouds below, slamming into the soft snow-covered peaks of mountains, and screams and wails of prisoners provide a backdrop to this spectacle. Albus shudders. "What have you done, to have the very sky punishing you?"

Gellert's eyes flash dangerously, black robes billowing around him impressively. "I hope you did not come here to lecture me on morals, dear old friend."

"It would seem as though we aren't anything but adversaries now," comes the even reply.

Anger begins to slowly build inside him; he is like cool metal placed in fire. "For what," he hisses bitterly, "We are adversaries because _they_ made us be."

" _They_ at least know right from wrong," Albus retorts.

Now a slow smile appears on Gellert's handsome face. He is bubbling lava, but he must control himself. Quietly he says, "Right and wrong are highly subjective. You would know better than anyone, or need I remind that it was you who came up with the concept of the _greater good_?"

Albus is white as his name, gripping his wand tightly. Gellert's mind flashes back to that day, decades and decades ago, sitting under an apple tree. _"Its blackthorn, twelve and three quarter inches, supple, dragon heartstring. Good for intricate wandwork, you know. See how it seems to move on his own, watch, Gellert, light as a feather it is. Although folklore has it that blackthorn indicates strife... I suppose my life is rather turbulent, but at least I have you now..."_

"Let's not go down memory lane," There is a near pleading tone in Albus' voice that brings Gellert hurtling back to the present.

But the past hangs between them like an ugly, unforgiving blemish in the air. It surrounds them, sinks into their pores, slides behind their eyes, under their nails; whispers tauntingly in their ears of past wrongs, echoes in the thin air like an unending drumbeat, _who killed her who killed her who killed her?_

He is shaking as if the very earth beneath him is quaking, as he faces his lover, his friend, his confidante, his enemy. _Enemy_. It is like swallowing lead laced with poison and bile; burns his throat, bubbles angrily in his stomach, inflames his mind and sears through his heart. _Enemy_. _Who killed her who killed her who killed her?_

He knows.

He looks into the brilliant, beautiful eyes of Albus Dumbledore, the eyes that are asking _who killed her, who killed her, who killed her?_ and for a moment, the wind stops howling, the sky stays still, the prisoners are silent; and his voice carries on for miles clearly saying, "You did."

They both know he is not lying.

Albus Dumbledore screams; rage and grief and self-hatred pouring out into the night so raw and pitiful the hairs on the back of the thestral raise up in fear.

Gellert draws his wand, feeling afraid for the first time in a long time; thriving on power he has forgotten the other human emotions. Now the ground really does shake, the wind rushes so harshly his skin might fall off, and there is blinding lightning and the boom of thunder as the air sizzles.

He watches as his old friend bears down upon him with his blackthorn wand, _supple, meant for strife_ , and in that instant he knows that his own undefeatable wand, his prized Deathstick, is no match for blinding grief.

Stones tumble down from the roof of the tower as Gellert Grindelwald looks into the eyes of Albus Dumbledore, feeling sorry for the first time in his life; there is a blinding white flash and he knows it is all over now; he has lost.

But in the end, he thinks he hasn't lost nearly as much as Albus Dumbledore.

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**Wow, first off thank you EVERYONE for your incredible support and for nominating this fic for an Hourglass Award!**

**This chapter took a lot of time to write, I hope I did Gellert Grindelwald some justice. I've always wondered what happened during the battle between himself and Dumbledore, and also who killed Ariana. This is my take on things.**

**Thanks for reading & ** **Please review =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	27. Gryffindor, Godric

**So for the past few chapters, every time I upload one to the story it comes up as the chapter before it. I have no idea why its doing this, but I'm sorry for the confusion! Here's chapter 27. As usual, thanks for reading, and please review!**

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**27\. Gryffindor, Godric**

I am Godric Gryffindor. Perhaps you have heard of me? I am that tall, dashing man with the golden hair and broad shoulders you've seen in the age-old tapestries adorning your school. My school. Did you know, I myself placed the first cornerstone of its foundation?

It was alright for a while, when we first built the castle. Back then, the staircases didn't move, nor did secret rooms appear. There were no chambers under the pipework, no secrets kept between us four.

Oh, but if only you knew everything that went into this school. If only you knew how the four great founders had their great fall, how we came apart like unraveling thread, subjected to our cruel fates, forever doomed to wander the sky, to hurl through the trees and fragment the sun's rays, forever in regret and bittersweet accomplishment. Of course, they don't teach you that in History of Magic, do they?

Now, Helga Hufflepuff's tears swirl eternally with the rain, seeping into the earth, so that the trees themselves are bent with her grief and sorrow. Rowena Ravenclaw's memories, drawn with slender hands from her temple, flit through the castle, forcing every room, every niche to sigh with remembrance. Salazar Slytherin's blood, spilled long ago, was absorbed by the grounds, lending darkness to the once cheerful forest. But I, I suffered the worst, for my very soul, little pieces here and there, are in every stone, every staircase.

Did you know, there used to be a time when everyone believed in magic? This was when the muggles and our kind co-existed. It was splendid, dragons flying over unflinching farmers, and the Queen gave me this sword.

See this sword? See the way the sunlight hits the steel made unbreakable through my own invention? It catches the sun, reflects the gold and all that is good and brave. The rubies in the hilt are a solidified mix of dragon's blood and pheonix tears, the blade is infused with basilisk venom.

I was a hero. I was a warrior, given triumph after triumph for my victories, for my courage, my prowess. Rowena was well known for her wisdom, sought out by healers far and wide. Helga flitted about, soothing and lovely and bringing good health to those who prayed for it. And Salazar Slytherin, he was brilliant and powerful and feared as much as respected.

When we couldn't fix the famine, when we couldn't stem the plague, when we didn't bring the dead back, the muggles turned on us. We fled, four of the best, most powerful wizards and witches ever to be born. But we could not change the mind of every non-magical being.

So we banded together, Rowena, Helga, and I, and we agreed we would rather have Salazar on our side than as an enemy, and so we founding four worked for years, so many years, making a safe haven for those of our kind but destroying ourselves in the process.

They say the sands of time heal all. But time ruins infinitely more. Time rots the healthy, turns a fierce mountain into a rounded grassy knoll, seeps into the soil and the soul and slowly, imperceptibly breaks each little molecule and good intention apart.

Rowena saw it coming, but in her infinite wisdom knew there was nothing that could be done. We were the four most powerful wizards to ever live (little Thomas Riddle does not fall within twenty leagues of us, regardless of what your textbook may say), but we were powerless against time. Everyone is. Rowena realized this. She was the one with the most thoughts but the least actions, simply because she knew the outcome and that actions were futile in the grand scheme of things.

Even Helga couldn't do anything, could not soothe the widening wounds between us four, and so she wept and wept as I pierced Salazar Slytherin's proud heart with my sword, his blood burning into the gentle stones of the dungeons. In that instant, my soul shattered. Killing someone will do that to you. Rowena watched, just watched, because she knew she could not do anything. She desperately pulled memories from her mind; years and years and decades of them, wishing to forget.

She forgot, but Hogwarts did not. Will never.

In the past, if you were to watch the tapestry made of Rowena's memories on the fourth floor in front of the Muggle Studies classroom at midnight on any October 31st, you would be able to see how the once great Founders had their grand, terrible fall. But it scared the students too much and wasn't good for morale, so now it sits in a forgotten dungeon.

Perhaps it is better to be remembered as a hero, I suppose.

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**I'm so sorry for the long wait before updating! I've been away from computers for the most part and haven't gotten a chance to write.**

**Thanks for reading, and PLEEASEEE REVIEW!!! I need feedback!**

**xx_Audrey**


	28. Hagrid, Rubeus

**28\. Hagrid, Rubeus.**

**_~Rubeus Hagrid's Five Favorite Foods~_ **

**Stoat Sandwiches** because they are his childhood.

**Sheperd's Pie** because after 20 years he cooks it halfway decently.

**Tea** for the good days, when he has friends visiting.

**Brandy** for the miserable days, when his friends are taken away.

**Treacle Tart** because like his life, it seems all sour but can be unexpectedly sweet.

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**I'd appreciate some reviews. Thanks for reading!**

**xx_Audrey**


	29. Hufflepuff, Helga

**29\. Hufflepuff, Helga**

"Blimey..." Ernie breathes, his words stirring up the ancient dust and setting them aswirl.

Hannah shoves him out of the way trying to get a closer look. She peers intently at the ornate box. It is cracked with age but even in the dim light from the dying torch it shines, albeit dully. "I think its real gold, Ernie!"

Ernie gives her a reproachful look. "There are more important things at hand, Hannah," he declares pompously. Hannah shoots him an ugly look, but he continues. "Look, there's a badger on the front of it."

Comprehension dawns on Hannah Abbot's round little face. "Bloody _hell_ -"

"-Helga Hufflepuff's-"

"-secret treasure chest-"

"-bet there's gold-"

"-some powerful object-"

"-health in a bottle-"

Hannah pauses and looks at Ernie, amused. "Health in a bottle? _Seriously_?" Rolling her eyes, she reaches for the box. Ernie jumps and swats her hand away. "Ow, you prick, what'd you do that for?"

"It could be booby-trapped..." Ernie whispers, mostly for dramatic effect.

Hannah sighs and looks around the little chamber. The walls are soft and mossy, and flowers grow from vines wrapped around thin pillars. They glow softly in the near-dark. "I highly doubt this is like the Chamber of Secrets, Ern."

Ernie shudders at the mention of the previous year's incident. He takes a deep breath, puffs out his chest, and announces, "Then let us proceed. We must unlock the treasure of Helga Hufflepuff."

"Its only an assumption," Hannah reminds him. "We just found this place 'cause we were running from those Slytherins. It could be anybody's room, anybody's box."

Ernie gently brushes off age-old dust from the small chest with his thick fingers, shaking his head. "I've just got a feeling about it."

Time almost slows down in the dark chamber as Ernie and Hannah, with their breaths held, ease open the lid. In their minds, the possibilities of what lies within pop up and burst like fireworks, until their very skulls are reverberating with excitement. Some ancient relic, a magical artifact that could give the holder phenomenal powers... Ernie is lost in a daydream, until-

"A _letter_?!"

Ernie feels very disappointed, and judging from Hannah's crestfallen look, she is too. Her pippy-longstocking pigtails seem to deflate a little under his own sad gaze.

"I s'pose we should open it, then," Hannah mumbles sulkily.

Ernie lets out a heavy sigh that generally a frustrated man of fifty might use. "I s'pose so..."

Hannah gingerly breaks open the black wax seal on the letter. Inside is a slip of parchment, and she pulls it out, letting the envelope flutter softly to the ground.

Ernie begins to read. " _You will come to realize that in life, just gold isn't nearly as valuable as loyalty and a heart in the right place. Regards, H. Hufflepuff_."

A moment passes by as the two third years digest this information. Then, Ernie somberly declares, "Those seventh years got us good."

"Yeah," Hannah agrees, and shaking their heads, they stride out of Helga Hufflepuff's chamber.

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**Read + REVIEW (pretty please?) !!**

**xx_Audrey**


	30. Johnson, Angelina

**30\. Johnson, Angelina**

They know how it is before a game. And after a game, and during practice. And before and after practice, too. She is giving another one of her "talks" and everyone else wants to burrow their heads into the muddy pitch like beaten-down, miserable gold and scarlet ostriches.

Her nostrils are flaring quite unattractively, and her hair is sticking up in twenty different directions. Her eyes are a little too bright, their gleam makes her come off as mad, rather than her preferred descriptor, _zealous_.

Hey. She is the Gryffindor Captain and she is the absolute _shit_  and she wants to win. So what if she has to scare her disciples into submission? It is for their own good, really.

One day George can't take it, so in the middle of her mad pep talk, he throws a quaffle at her head. Back then, she didn't know this was true love and so she barks, "Fifty laps, arsehole!"

He does as he's told, but slips some Intense Itch Icecubes into her pumpkin juice that night.

She is miserable at practice the next day.

He is delighted.

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**Thanks to all the Hourglass judges who have made this fic a Second Place Winner for the Drabble/Drabble Collection category!  Thanks also to everyone who continues to read this fic. Its pretty ambitious and sometimes I don't have the motivation to go forward, but you know what keeps me writing? REVIEWS!!! They make me very very happy.**

**So, please review, I'll love you forever =)**


	31. Jordan, Lee

 

**31\. Jordan, Lee**

The moment he got up, stumbling a bit as he messily tapped the flute of champagne with a butterknife, George and Angelina simultaneously groaned, with the latter of the pair hiding her face behind well-manicured hands.

" _Listen_ ," he announced, a little too loudly, and all chatter stopped as two hundred pairs of eyes focused on his swaying visage. "So. I'm the best man, that's me. And I'm making a toast, as all best men do-"

"Lee, you _really_  don't have to mate," George muttered, trying to yank him down, while Angelina pointedly glared at her napkin.

"No, I really want to," Lee whined, before continuing, a beatific smile appearing on his face. "Listen. I have known George and Angie since I was eleven years old. That was a long time ago, although still not that long that I'm old or anything, so ladies, please feel free to get some of this mocha latte arse tonight-"

"Lee- oh god, seriously, George,  _stop him_ , hex him, do _something_ -"

"You know, George and Angie weren't always together. Actually, she was with me throughout school. Well, I mean, I just asked her out every day I guess. She was just so hot! Still is. Damn. George you're lucky you're my best mate or else I'd steal her, I swear it," at this point Lee tipped back the rest of his champagne, not noticing the slightly scandalised expressions of the guests. Molly Weasley looked disapproving, although her daughter had to fight to keep the giggles in check.

"Anyways. I wish I weren't best man."

Now, silence.

"I'm serious. I'm not supposed to be the best man. Fred is. Man, there are some days you really feel it, eh? Like now, I'm so sad. Because Fred was supposed to be the piss drunk guy embarassing this lovely couple, not me..."

George had turned slightly white, and there was the sound of soft sobbing in the background. Harry had put a comforting arm around Ginny, and Percy Weasley was staring resolutely ahead, jaw clenched.

Lee Jordan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry he couldn't be here, but you know what? He's still here in spirit. And if he could give this speech today, he'd say, George, you're a damn lucky fool to get a babe like Angelina, so make sure to keep her around and not accidentally feed your future babies any exploding shit. And with that... here's to the new couple."

He raised his empty glass, noted its state, and took Angelina's with a cheeky wink. The mood lightened as the view switched from the past to a promising future. Chatter and the delicate clinking of glass rang through the air, and for a moment he could have sworn he heard Fred Weasley's infectious laugh floating through the summer breeze.

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**Just a little snippet... I wasn't sure exactly what to write about Lee, but then this idea came along. Hope you like it.**

**As always, please REVIEW! It makes my day (and I'm not even kidding!!)**

 

 


	32. Krum, Victor

**32\. Krum, Victor**

**10 Questions with Victor Krum  
 _A Daily Prophet Exclusive!_**

**Why did you decide to go professional?**

_I was good at Quidditch. It made sense. I like to fly._

**If you weren't an international Quidditch icon, what would your dream job be?**

_I don't know. I have always been a Quidditch player. I think I would like to be a ballroom dancer. Very graceful, like flying. But I am not much good at dancing._

**Whom do you admire most in the wizarding world?**

_Ah. Harry Potter is a given, I think, he has done much for us all. Also I admire Natjilin Krum. My grandfather. He was a hero, he was enemy of Grindewald and organized a revolt. Grindewald killed him, but he was a brave man. I wish I had known him._

**What are your thoughts on the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament?**

_It was a tragedy. So very sad, and also I am still angry for being put under Imperio, I never would harm anybody._

**What inspired you to start Seeking for Serenity?**

_It is the responsibility for Quidditch players, as role models, to give good services back to the public. I have seen many poor children on the streets so this organization helps focus and teach them to be good citizens through Quidditch._

**How long have you had the military "buzz" cut, and why?**

_That is a strange question. My mother cuts my hair. Its better for flying, no visibility issues._

**Did you really date the brainy Brit Hermione Granger?**

_That was a long time ago. She was pretty, and very smart. I like smart women._

**Do you believe in true love?**

_I don't really have time for love with my Quidditch schedule. But maybe one day I will experience also this true love everyone keeps talking about._

**What is your opinion on the late Albus Dumbledore's revealed homosexuality?**

_Huh. He is homosexual? Should I have an opinion on this? I don't really think it matters, either way he was a very great wizard._

**What are your plans for the future?**

_I would like to continue seeking and overseeing my charity. I am hoping also to eventually settle down, have a family. Also I would like to learn to dance. There is some show now is there not? I am thinking of being one of the celebrity contestants. We will see._

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**What do you think? Would your version of Krum have answered some of these questions differently? Tell me in a review, pretty please =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	33. Lestrange, Bellatrix

**33\. Lestrange, Bellatrix**

Her first kill comes at quite a young age.

She remembers how the sky was so blue it was almost offensive, and how the tarnished swingset would give a sickening screech every time Cissy swung forward, little bare feet trying to touch the clouds.

It had crawled on her, clung to the new silk of her dress, left resin in its wake. Bellatrix roared in anger, bringing her hand down with lightning speed like a sure guillotine blade.

Somehow it escaped, and all it left behind the pain of bone on soft baby skin. Furious tears threatned to leak from behind long black lashes. All she saw was red.

And then it was back, and in one swift jump, she caught it. She cupped it in her little hands, little red lips curling into a smile cruel beyond her years. "Oh, aren't you a pretty little thing?" she cooed.

"Bella, leave it alone," Andromeda said sharply, her voice ringing through the summer breeze. The leaves stopped rustling, Cissy's tiny feet skidded on the grass and the swing became motionless.

But little Bellatrix Black was incensed. Her eyes burned brightly like lit coal, windows to the inferno of rage in her pretty little head. This despicable creature would _pay_ for what it did. Its jeweled wings began to contort as if they were made of the color-changing putty in the toy box upstairs.

The wind was rushing past her ears and there was the sound of padding little feet but all Bellatrix could hear was a long, drawn out silent scream as first one, then the other tissue paper thin wing snapped off. Black eyes wide with fascination stared at the quivering, ugly thing in her palm.

"Bella!" Andromeda cried, aghast, all soft hair and pale face and big brown eyes wide with fright. And then Cissy wailed, spilling a whole summer's day worth of tears for the beautiful broken butterfly in her big sister's hands.


	34. Lestrange, Rabastan

**34\. Lestrange, Rabastan**

He doesn't say it, but it fucking _kills_ and he can feel the sharp sting of tears and clamps his mouth shut forcefully, because otherwise he will scream and scream and scream. Now he is committed, _permanently_ , and this is a mark of his loyalty, and he has chosen this path because it is _right_ , because his world is threatened, because purity must be preserved. He watches as the last bead of his pure blood slides from his arm and falls ever so slowly onto the mossy ground. The Dark Lord smiles, cold sapphire eyes boring into his submissive brown. "You are protecting your birthright, your kin's place in the world. You are a hero." The snake just born on his arm twists wildly in its skull, and all he hears in his head is the word _hero, hero, hero_.


	35. Lestrange, Rodolphus

**35\. Lestrange, Rodolphus**

She is so very different around him.

She is all soft whispers and caresses in the near dark, looking up at him from under her hooded eyes, beckoning him with a sly smile. Her skin glows and for a moment he has the mad urge to laugh, because she looks like an alien out of a muggle comic book. Whatever she is, she is unearthly.

(Because really, in the end, what human has the capacity for being so _evil_?)

She looks like Snow White. She lies on her back, midnight curls splayed wildly against bloodred silk, sheets the same color as her soft lips, and raises her left arm idly, staring at it this way, then that with her glittering black diamond eyes. The mark stands out against the stark white of her skin. Porcelain, and just as smooth, he thinks, running his fingers slowly along her collarbone.

"Looks lovely, doesn't it?" she comments, voice smooth as honey, breath infused with wine. He bends down and kisses her neck; she emits a content hum. She really is lovely. He has never known love, but he hypothesizes that this must be it. She draws him in with just a look. She lets him into her mind, her body; makes him devoted to her cause because if she believes it (he is too weak to not follow) then it is good enough for him. She can order him to lie, to cheat, to kill, and he will follow through. He will do anything, _anything_  for his beautiful Bella. He is her slave.

"You're mine," she croons, sliding her long nails lightly down his back. He kisses her and thinks, _Yes,_ _I am_. He can almost sense the smirk on her lips as she wraps her arms around him. 

Love must be utter submission. For a moment her tongue tastes like bitter almonds. Because she lets him into her mind, her body. But she never did let anyone into her soul except for  _him_.

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**So this story has had over 11,000 hits. Thanks to everyone who has been reading. If you have time, take a moment to review (feedback = ice cream sundaes). If not, I hope that each chapter gives you a little something to think about!**

**xx_Audrey**


	36. Lockhart, Gilderoy

**36\. Lockhart, Gilderoy**

_Excerpt from **Magical Me** , by Gilderoy Lockhart_

...I stirred from a pleasant dream. In it, I was posing for the Daily Prophet. My first book had just been released, to rave reviews. I was kicking off a book tour, as well as negotiating deals with Witch Weekly for next month's cover page. Even more incredible, Beautiful Brews wanted me to collaborate on a new line of hair products... oh what a dream...

But wait! As the last vestiges of sleep slipped away, reality became clearer. "That wasn't a dream," I murmured slowly, disbelieving. "Oh Merlin's beard!"

I rose out of bed, feeling springy from head to pinky toe. I stretched and fairly skipped about, first walking to my darling mirror, Glinda. " _My, my, Gilderoy, those lilac pyjamas look dashing on you!_ " she exlaimed breathily. I flashed my best smile at her, pleased by how especially white my teeth looked today.

The sunlight was shining even through the drawn brocade curtains, and I thought it would be a shame to waste such a nice opportunity to light up my hair. I whipped open the curtains with a flourish of my wand, ready to greet the sun with a dazzling smile of my own.

So imagine my surprise when, expecting to be see nothing but blue skies, I instead was greeted by a gaggle of women almost plastered to the glass!

" _Who are_ they _?"_ Glinda asked irately. She's a jealous sort of mirror, bless her.

I shrugged, puzzled. I walked over to the window, and to my alarm, one young lass fainted! I hesitated, unsure of what to do. On the one hand, a poor soul had just passed out cold, but on the other, I was wearing  _pyjamas_ and looking thoroughly unpresentable. After a moment of deliberation, I swung into action, opening the screen with so much force the pane came right off, and jumped out.

There was much screaming, and one blonde, rather curvacious woman was positively hysterical. "Hush, now," I said, putting a comforting arm on her shoulder. She stopped moving, and I sighed in relief. I was about to turn away, when her eyes became positively orb-like, and before I knew what was happening she was screaming unintelligibly again. "Darling, I really wish you'd stop yelling. My ears are sensitive, you know."

"Oh _Merlin_ ," she breathed, in rapture. "You called me _darling_..."

At that point I just huffed impatiently- a lovely huff, I must say- and turned away. There were more important matters at hand! A girl was unconcsious! I found her lying on the ground, unattended, and had to fend a few hands away from me, that was so _inappropriate_!

Kneeling before the pale-faced passed out brunette, leaned my ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing. She let out what seemed to be a squeak, and then did not breathe at all. Worried, I placed my hand on her chest, checking for a pulse. Suddenly, she shot right up, wild-eyed. "Yes!" she cried, "Gilderoy Lockhart went to second with me!"

A reporter's camera flash went off, and chaos ensued. I was all but mobbed. "Wait!" I exclaimed in fright, but to no avail. I could not slap away all the hands reaching for my buttocks, and my face was attacked by multiple sets of lips. _Well then_ , I thought, confused by this behavior but not really minding it. I was young, after all.

That was until one of them touched just  _there._ The nerve, touching that... why, I had never even met her until just now! I felt positively _violated_. I whipped out my wand... a hush descended upon the horde. " _Never_ ," I said more dangerously than a vampire, " _Never_ touch the hair!"

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**Thorough silliness! Read + Review. Reviews = chocolate cake. And I really like chocolate cake.**

**xx_Audrey**


	37. Longbottom, Alice

**37\. Longbottom, Alice**

The panic is instantaneous and complete. One moment she is levelheaded and under control and the next all she sees is the grain on the wooden table in high definition as everything else around her begins to contort. Dumbledore's voice turns into static noise and her lungs have stopped functioning. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lily's hand gripping the table so hard that it is deathly white, and her mind is so morbid because now all she can see is herself lying on the floor, the same color as Lily's hand and lifeless, and somewhere a baby cries for only a moment before that dreaded green light fills the room. And she feels sick at the next thought that crosses her mind, but she can't help it, she can't help but hope its Lily's baby, not her's, that this prophecy is meant for.

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**I know its been a while, but no, I haven't abandoned this collection, promise! Thanks for all the feedback- and one thing I will say is that not everyone will always fully get every chapter, and as a writer I can try my best but I'm sorry if it doesn't quite connect every time =/ Other than that, don't worry, I'm writing!**

**Please read + REVIEW! It keeps me going!**

**xx_Audrey**


	38. Longbottom, Frank

**38\. Longbottom, Frank.**

**Useless Advice for Frank Longbottom, a Collection.**

"Aw Frank, I think its so sweet that you are in love Alice! Wait, you're not in love with her? Oh, you so are in love with her, look how red you're turning! You're a positive tomato!  I'm so excited for you. You should send her little secret admirer chocolates, everyone likes a little bit of mystery."

- _Dorcas Meadowes_

"God, just bang her already. You could cut the sexual tension between you with a knife. Every time she smiles at you, she's really saying, "Take off my knickers, now." Trust me. I know how the female mind works."

 - _Sirius Black_

"Oh please. Frank, don't listen to Sirius. He likes to think he can satiate any woman, but its all just words to cover up his insecurities over his undersized wand."

  _-Marlene McKinnon_

"So, darling, I hear that you have taken a fancy to a young lady. What was her name? Amy? Allison? Oh, the name isn't all that important. What _is_  important is that you think long and hard about the choices ahead of you. If you are merely infatuated with this Alicia girl, I should hope you will not act like a pubescent boy and forfeit your greatest treasure."

 - _Mrs. Longbottom_

"What do you see in her? She's so... plain! I mean, have you seen the length of her skirts? They weren't even that long when my mum was our age. Let me give you a piece of advice- forget about her. I'll be a tart for you. I mean, who doesn't like dessert?"

 - _Miranda Bixby_

"Frank, as an experienced man, I believe I can offer you some excellent guidance. Do little things to make her notice you, like talking a little more loudly when she is nearby, or flirting with another girl. Letting her know she has competition will make her realize she has to admit her feelings to you. But remember, most importantly, that _she has to come to you_. Be the man. That's how it works, mate."

- _James Potter_

"Well, Frank, you could do what James does. I'm sure being an insufferable prat is the way to a girl's heart. Clearly it is working. Clearly when I ignore him, yell at him, slap him, and turn him down for the five hundredth time, his methods work. True genius, really."

_-Lily Evans_

"Mr. Longbottom, I've found that lemon drops work particularly well in the art of wooing. Just a passing thought."

_-Albus Dumbledore_

"For _Merlin's_  sake, just go to Hogsmeade with me already."

_-Alice Abbot_

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**Long time, no update, I'm so sorry! Just wanted to let you guys know I'm still writing. Just had a long writer's block, but I'm back!!! PLEASE REVIEW, its the best motivation in the world! Also, happy St. Patty's day ;)**

**xx_Audrey**


	39. Longbottom, Neville

**39\. Longbottom, Neville**

"Really, Neville, lighten up a bit, its Christmas!" Hannah sighed, placing her mug of cocoa on the coffee table before leaning over and wrapping her arms around him comfortingly.

Neville closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting himself enjoy the embrace and feeling slightly better. She was very good at making him feel better, all sparkling blue eyes and store-bought "home-made" apple cobblers and soft knitted sweaters patterned with unidentifiable animals. "Sorry, Hannah, just in a bit of a funk," he apologized.

Hannah plopped down onto the couch next to him. "Hey, look at me," she said softly, placing a finger under his chin and gently tilting it upwards. "You upset about your mum and dad, hm?"

"No, I mean, I'm sad, but I'm not upset, that is to say I'm fine, I mean of course I wish things had been different, but I'm alright..." he trailed off, slightly miserable.

"I have an idea", Hannah announced, grabbing her coat and hopping around, trying to put her boots on. "C'mon, lets hurry. I've got a pressing question for your parents."

And with that, Neville found himself flummoxed and sitting on a worn pink chintz chair. His parents were smiling away at nothing and everything in their respective beds, little Father Christmas hats on their heads, and Hannah Abbot was kneeling in front of him on one knee with the biggest smile he had ever seen, a ring from a holiday exploding cracker held in her outstretched hand. "Well, your mum and dad have given me the okay, I think so anyway, I'm just going to go ahead and assume, so Mr. Longbottom, let's turn that frown upside down, hm? Marry me?"

Neville laughed. "Yes, but how come you get to ask?"

Hannah paused, then pulled him forward on top of her, kissing him fiercely. "Be happy, Neville. Can I make you happy forever?"

"Mhm..." Neville replied, otherwise occupied.

"Great. We should move to another location. I'm pretty sure your parents don't want to see us making Christmas babies on their floor. Much as they love you."

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**I'm sorry to update after so long, so here's something light and fluffy for you. Read + REVIEW, its the best motivation for writing, ever!**

**PS- (IF YOU WANT TO) READ MY NEW FIC, REPTILIA! It's about the Black family. I'd LOVE to know what you think of it. I've written most of it already.**

**xx_Audrey**


	40. Lovegood, Luna

**40.**   **Lovegood, Luna**

They've hidden her books again, those older Ravenclaw boys.

They say silly things but she's used to it. Ginny Weasley always turns red as a fresh-water plimpie and sputters indignantly, telling them to stuff it, and Luna worries that her aura is entirely too purple for her own good.

This time, no one is around to defend her, but Luna is fine with that, smiling politely when one of them comments on her horseradish earrings. She explains how they act as repellents for Wrackspurts, which are nasty little things _no one_ wants around their ears. The boy laughs incredulously, at a loss for any sort of retort, and they all walk away, shaking their heads.

Her mum did always said that facts were the best way to shut someone up. Luna smiles and looks up at the Great Hall's sky. One of the clouds is shaped like a tea leaf, and everyone knows that when there's a tea leaf shaped cloud, you're going to find what you're looking for.

Ah, there her books are, perched on a nearby windowsill.

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**On a writing roll! Let me know what you think in a review!**

**xx_Audrey**


	41. Lovegood, Xenophilius

**41\. Xenophilius Lovegood**

_We have received intelligence of your connection to Harry Potter. The Dark Lord commands you to bring him to us. It would be in your daughter's best interest for you to cooperate. Do not attempt to inform anyone, or she will die._

Xenophilius Lovegood sinks to the ground, clutching the parchment with shaking hands. The air seems to turn from pleasantly warm to nearly as frigid as the temperature outside, the printing press giving away to pulsating silence. There are a thousand questions running through his mind, but mostly just _why, why, WHY_? over and over again. As if to answer, a warm, freshly printed copy of the latest edition of the Quibbler falls to the floor in front of him, the caption "QUIBBLER READERS: WE SUPPORT HARRY POTTER" bold in the still-drying ink.

He stares, shocked, at the words he had so carefully typeset a few hours before. His eyes fill with tears and everything blurs- the murals on the walls painted by Luna, the picture of Harry Potter staring at him from the magazine cover, the line between being good and bad.

He wonders that Luna's mother would say to him now, as he jumps up with a strangled cry and begins to tear each magazine up into hundreds of pieces, setting them on fire when he cannot bear to look at the message anymore. He wonders where Luna is, if she is even alive, and if she would be sad if she saw him pulling out the typeset, spelling wooden letters into a new message, "E-N-E-M-Y-N-o-1-!"

Right and wrong has faded into a blurred gray. Jaw set, Xenophilius decides it is more important for him to be a good father and get his daughter back than to help Harry Potter save the world.


	42. Lupin, Remus

**42\. Remus Lupin**

Remus Lupin, the last Marauder. It sounded like the title to a muggle action film. With pirates. In reality, there was a lot less swashbuckling and a lot more brooding in dark corners, although he supposed that the quantity of rum consumed was relatively the same.

He bit off another piece of chocolate, dark chocolate almost more bitter than his mood. This is what he got for being the rational one, the quiet peacekeeper, the calm philosopher. A dark room filled with dark chocolate and a floor littered with bottles of rum.

James was gone first. That strangely didn't surprise him. Where he was a slow-burning candle, James was a couldron of kerosene set with a match. He flew the highest, loved the most, risked the most. He burned the brightest and burned out the fastest.

Sirius took fourteen years to follow in his best friend's footsteps, and Remus was surprised it took so long. True to his namesake, Sirius was loyal to a canine degree. Where James went, Sirius followed. Oh, how cruel fate had been those fourteen years, robbing Sirius of everything but his life, the one thing he no longer cared about. How bitter his last moments must have been, when he finally had a piece of James to anchor him to the living world in the form of Harry, only to have fate decide that at long last he should cross over to the other side.

And Peter. Sodding Peter, rat-like and more cunning than Remus had every thought to give him credit for. Peter, whom he babied, tutored, supported, and never said a mean word to, because he was the weakest, because he was the least likely to survive. But Remus should have known. Rodents survive to live and live to survive, but at last, the fucker got what he deserved - choked to death by his own precious silver hand.

And now, here he was, Remus Lupin, the last Marauder. Sipping rum in a dingy apartment in the most downtrodden section of Liverpool, bitter as dark chocolate and almost wishing for the full moon so he could just escape this feeling so peculiar to the human race.

In a sick, twisted way, he was jealous. He was jealous of James, who lived more fully in his short lifetime than Remus, who had lived almost double that age. He was jealous of Sirius, who believed in revenge, and who was loyal to the point of near madness and who finally was reunited with his best friend. He was even jealous of Peter, miserable Peter, who was no longer miserable because he was dead. Remus wondered if hell existed, in which case he supposed Peter's misery was just beginning. Oh, how he hoped hell existed.

Outside, loud laughter intermingled with the noise of constant sirens. The scum of the city were out and about, drowning their problems away in vice. Remus was jealous of them too, because at least they were not alone.

He was so alone. Remus Lupin, the last Marauder, gray and tattered and alone.

Just then, there was a loud series of knocks on the battered apartment door. Remus set down the chocolate and rum carefully on the weathered table and fingered his wand.

"Remus, you _arse_ , if you die of self-pity and rum and chocolate I swear I will _kill_  you! Oh, Poor Remus, last Marauder Remus, boo hoo. You think you can just leave a hormonal, very pregnant wife? I am so mad at you right now that I will kill you, raise you from the dead, and kill you again!"

He couldn't help but smile a little.

Remus Lupin, the last Marauder, but not alone.

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**Long break, but I'm back! Please review =)**

**xx_Audrey**


	43. Lupin, Teddy

**43\. Teddy Lupin**

"Oops..."

Teddy Lupin finds himself using that particular word more often than any other.

Now he winces, staring at the mess in front of him. Broken dishes, overturned tables, and the entire Hogwarts population sporting their dinners as decorative accessories on their uniforms. Professor Flitwick looks bewildered as to how he ended up waist deep in the tureen of mulligatawny soup. In a corner, a House Elf looks decidedly pissed off.

"Treacle tart on the ceiling. Impressive," Professor McGonagall intones dryly, managing to look even more intimidating even as a giant glop of the sticky stuff lands firmly on the brim of her hat.

"...I tripped?" Teddy offers sheepishly, ears burning and hair turning an alarmingly embarassing shade of bubblegum pink.

"He was running down the hall trying to turn me into an orangutan!" Victoire tattles from his left, looking furious and sporting an upturned bowl of spaghetti on her head. The marinara sauce has turned her Veela-hair a decidedly Weasley shade of red.

Teddy thinks it doesn't suit her complexion at all, but he refrains from pointing this out as he wouldn't want to have her end up in Azkaban for offing him in the middle of the Great Hall (really, he was just looking out for her interests). When the Professor looks at him down her nose beadily, he deliberates on how to best come back from this. He decides to stick to the truth. "And _then_  I tripped!"

Professor McGonagall looks like she very much wants to shift into her Anigamus shape and tear him to pieces with her tabby paws. Hagrid and Professor Sprout rise from their seats worriedly, but the older witch simply holds up her hand before moving it to pinch the bridge of her nose, trying without success to stave off a major headache. Really, she had been having such a lovely evening until Teddy Lupin came along- she had gotten into a lively discussion with Pomona about the benefits of Transfigurative practices with the pollywog plant, _and_  the house elves had made her favorite, key lime pie.

"So, let me see if I understand correctly. You attempt to hex Miss Weasley with a dangerous animal transfiguration incantation well beyond fifth-year curriculum, botch it spectacularly, and instead end up casting a spell that causes all food items in the Great Hall to dance a fast-paced polka."

Teddy is not very happy with her tone. She sounds much too accusatory. Calmly, he tries to explain what _really_  happened. "You see, I tripped mid-hex. I didn't know there was a spell for polka-dancing dinners, nifty, you must admit."

"And the spell did produce an excellent song selection - the Strauss' galop  _Bahn Frie_ , I believe," Professor Flitwick added from his seat in the large tureen of soup.

"Nifty my arse!" Victoire cuts in shrilly, "The food had no manners! When, like the mature adolescent that I am, I declined a dance with the spaghetti, it tried to _kill_  me!"

"Well, first of all, the terms mature and adolescent are oxymoronic," Teddy states in a superior tone.

"Oh, I'll show you oxymoronic: the terms Teddy Lupin and _alive_ ," Victoire snaps, drawing herself up to full height. At fourteen, she still is a good three inches taller than Teddy, and with her spaghetti bowl head ornament, she towers over him, the red sauce running down her face and robes and reminding him very much of a scene from the muggle horror films that Aunt Hermione secretly loved.

"Five galleons says she kills him," James Potter mutters loudly enough for the entire Great Hall to hear, and Fred Weasley gleefully shakes his hand to seal the bet. A flurry of similar bets are hurriedly placed. Teddy supposed he would feel more betrayed by his favorite adopted cousin if said murderer-to-be wasn't bearing down on him like a crazed manticore.

"Victoire, don't you think you're kicking up a bit of a fuss over some spaghetti in your hair?" Teddy asks nervously, backing away.

"You ruined my hair. I will kill you," Victoire replies, sounding rather calm as she raises her wand at him.

Teddy ducks behind Professor McGonagall, legitimately afraid. Surely she wouldn't let cold-blooded murder take place on her watch! "Save me, Minnie!"

"ENOUGH!" roars Professor McGonagall, her face an interesting shade of purple that is quite complimented by the berry treacle tart hanging about her hat. "Detention! All of you!"

There is long pause. Then Professor Flitwick ventures to ask, "Could you please specify 'all'?"

"ALL OF YOU!" the disgruntled professor screams, turning on her heel and stalking out of the Great Hall, leaving a trail of treacle tart behind her. Everyone stares in silent shock at Professor Flitwick being given detention. For his part, he sinks down into the tureen ashamedly.

As Professor McGonagall storms away, Teddy catches snatches of phrases such as "bloody Hogwarts" "should have retired" and "mother's son, alright" before she disappeared around the corner.

He grins.

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**This idea just popped into my head, what do you think? I'd love to know!**

**xx_Audrey**


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